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Definition
To whom do I dedicate this charming slim volume,
just now polished with dry pumice stone?
For you Cornellius, for you were accustomed to think
that my scribblings were something.
When already at the same time, you alone
dared to unfold the whole age of Italians in three scrolls,
learned, by Jupiter, and weighty!
For that reason have for yourself whatever this little book is,
and whatever you like, oh patron maiden,
let it last a long time, for more than one generation! |
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Definition
Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love,
and let us judge all the rumors of the old men
to be worth just one penny!
The suns are able to fall and rise:
When that brief light has fallen for us,
we must sleep a never ending night.
Give me a thousand kisses, then another hundred,
then another thousand, then a second hundred,
then yet another thousand more, then another hundred.
Then, when we have made many thousands,
we will mix them all up so that we don't know,
and so that no one can be jealous of us when he finds out
how many kisses we have shared. |
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Definition
You ask, my Lesbia, how many of your kisses
are enough and more than enough for me.
As big a number as the Libyan grains of sand
that lie at silphium producing Cyrene
between the oracle of Sultry Jupiter
and the sacred tomb of old Battus;
Or as many stars that see the secret love affairs of men,
when the night is silent.
So many kisses are enough
and more than enough for mad Catullus to kiss you,
these kisses which neither the inquisitive are able to count
nor an evil tongue bewitch. |
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Definition
Poor Catullus, you must stop being silly,
and count as lost what you see is lost.
Once the sun shone bright for you,
when you would go whither your sweetheart led,
she who was loved by me as none will ever be loved.
Then there took place those many jolly scenes
which you desired nor did your sweetheart not desire.
Truly the sun shone bright for you.
Now she desires no more: do you too, weakling, not desire;
and do not chase her who flees, nor live in unhappiness,
but harden your heart, endure and stand fast.
Goodbye, sweetheart. Catullus now stands fast:
he will not look for you or court you against your will.
But you will be sorry when you are not courted at all.
Wretch, pity on you! What life lies in store for you!
Who will come to you now? Who will think you pretty?
Whom will you love now? Who will people say you are?
Whom will you kiss? Whose lips will you bite?
But you, Catullus, be resolute and stand fast. |
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| Catullus 12: asinus Marucinus |
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Definition
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Asinius Marrucinus, left hand
You do not use well: in joke and wine
You lift the napkins of the more careless.
Do you think that this is witty? It escapes you, foolish man
This thing is utterly sordid and unattractive.
Do you not believe me? Believe you brother Pollio
Who would wish that your acts of stealing
Be changed for even a talent - for the boy
Is full of charm and wit.
Therefore expect either 300 hendecasyllabic verses
Or send back the napkin to me,
Which does not move me by means of price,
But rather it is a souvenir of my friend.
For Fabullus and Veranius sent Saetaban napkins
From the Spaniards to me as a gift;
It is necessary that I love these things
As I love my little Veranius and Fabullus. |
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Definition
Alfenus, thoughtless and deceitful to your congenial pals,
Have you no pity whatsoever, hardheart, for your beloved friend?
Don't you now hesitate to betray me, to mislead me, you rogue?
Nor are the wicked deeds of treacherous men pleasing to the gods.
Like this deed you overlook: deserting me here wretched in my woes.
What are men to do? Alas! Tell me! Or in whom should they place trust?
You, indeed unjust, kept ordering me to entrust my soul,
Leading me on into friendship as if everything were fine.
You, that same person, now withdraw yourself, entrusting to the winds
All of your words, all of your deeds, carried away nebulously.
Even if you choose to forget, mindful are the gods, even Faith,
Who will make damn sure that you regret your deeds afterwards, my friend. |
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Definition
I would like you, papyrus,
to tell Caecilius, the love poet, my friend
to come to Verona, leaving
the walls of New Comum and the Larian shore
for I wish him to receive
certain thoughts of a friend of his and mine
therefore if he is wise, he will eat up the road
although a dazzling girl calls him
back a thousand times as he leaves and
flinging both arms around his neck begs that Caecilius remain.
That's the girl who, if what's reported to me is true,
now perishes through uncontrollable love:
for when she reads his
unfinished "Mistress of Dindymus", from that time fires
have been eating the marrow of the poor girl.
I forgive you, girl more learned than Sappho's
muse: for the Great Mother of Caecilius
is elegantly underway. |
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